#lycaneyes

super hard character development asks

Does your character have siblings or family members in their age group? Which one are they closest with?

What a can of worms. Adisse has two sisters, Hadren and Ellera, and they both think she's a traitorous bitch and would like to see her dead. The thing is, she still supports the Forsworn's end goal, but thinks they're going about it haphazardly and their disorganization will be their ultimate downfall. Before she left, she was probably closer with Hadren, but got on better with Ellera.

In what situation was your character the most calm they’ve ever been?

Probably sometime while working at the inn. Perhaps it's a slow day and she's just shooting the shit with a couple of regulars. A simple minute of remarkably non-violent Markarth life.

What does your character like in other people?

She likes interesting people. People who have seen or done cool things, and it's even better if they're a good storyteller. Tell her about the time you fought a sabre cat in Hjaalmarch. Saw a giant trip on a stump. Keep her engaged and you'll quickly fond she considers you a friend.

What does your character dislike in other people?

the man stumbles forward from the treeline. it seems he was wandering about the forest, for one reason or another. his purpose is unknown. his silhouette is slightly hunched; distinct against the perfectly straight trees that surround him.

his face is flushed, and a fine mist of sweat smatters his brow. the man looks nigh-feral for a passing second. then, his gaze focuses. the knife is released from his shaking grip; falling with a dull thud onto the grass below. his clothes are torn - tattered, and blood-stained. what blood is his or another's is unknowable from a glance.

"sorry," he breathes, and lurches to a trunk nearby for support. one hand reaches up to brace against the rough bark. then he coughs blood, and grasps at the bloody stain on his stomach. "got into... a bit... of a scuffle."

    His chest stills for a long moment as he watches,  waiting,  unsure if the stranger will lunge at him when their paths happen to cross within the trees.  Grimm moves closer and pages begin flipping open pre-emptively;  apparently the spellbook has the same thought. But as the tense pause comes to a close and the blade falls to the ground,  Camael is able to breath again. 

a moment of confusion. memories of the same joke shared among fellow circle members - other lycans - a jest, but dangerous in the wrong person’s lips. seconds of panic before realization dawns.

the man chuckles; quick to hide the anxiety.

“ no reason for it. i guess my face must be tired, ” he says, and rubs his cheeks; the spark in his eye demonstrating humor. “ or it’s the mead you’ve been generous with, miss. i don’t think i can feel my face, ” he teases.

the truth is best laid to rest. he never goes to markarth, but the city always bodes bad business. he wishes he’d piqued her attention in a more pleasant way. regardless, brynjar is always happy to make conversation.

“ but, ah, thanks for checking on me. ” the smile he offers next is genuine, and warm. it’s clear that he needed his thoughts unbound, and her question pulled him from vexing contemplation.

Mindlessly, she dragged the cloth along the already clean bar top. To be honest, this man was the only thing saving Adisse's sanity on this boring, empty Tirdas. Not even Ogmund was around to fill the silence. Just the crackling of the fire and the endless wiping of that damned, stone counter. He might not have been much of a talker, but he was cute and he didn't roll his eyes at all her silly bartender jokes. Frankly, she couldnt have asked for better company to finish out the shift.

"Will I have to cut you off, huh?" she teased, dropping the bar cloth by the wayside. "Can't feel your face, tch.." Maybe it wasn't just him suffering silently through jokes.

"It is... the moon", Phileas noted, his voice but a hushed whisper riding the breeze that ruffled his hair. A look of unveiled fascination glimmered in his eyes.

In front of them, where the pale light of the waxing moon met cold stone, the cracks Phileas had previously thought to be nothing but regular signs of wear and tear, began to glow. Gently at first - but growing in intensity with every breath he withheld - until they drowned out even the light that seemed to have activated them in the first place. Phileas hastily took a few steps back. His poor eyesight had forced him so close before that his nose had been only inches away from colliding with the ancient wall. Now though, the radiant light that seemed to be seeping from the wall itself almost managed to blind him.